Can't wait for right now!

Since Torres del Paine, I have sat for hours on buses, found paradise, ate strange foods, went to painted deserts, muggy jungles, and dizzying altitudes. It was an incredible trip full of unforgettable experiences. Soon after returning to Santiago, however, I ran into a bit of bad luck and now a hospital room at Universidad Catolica Hospital is my current accommodation. By some inexplicable and unfortunate phenomenon, I came down Shingles and feel like I’m being held captive here until the anti-viral medication cycle is complete. By the end of this, I will have been in the hospital for 13 days. I guess that’s just one more thing to add to what’s become quite a long list of experiences, from the curious to the fantastic, in South America. The bright side is that I have tons of time to catch up on relating my marathon of adventures.

Entering Argentina: Following Torres del Paine, my comrades and I left Chile for the first time in six months and crossed into Argentina. We were headed for El Calafate to see the Perito Moreno Glacier, known for its dramatic displays of ice collapsing as the glacier slowly advances. In actuality, crossing a border, an invisible line made real by offices with stamps and guarded by a bunch of stern-faced men in uniform and guns, is an incredibly insignificant act. However, none of us could deny the excitement felt by the concept of crossing an international border, getting out of Chile, entering Argentina, and feeling reminded of the power of a passport.

As is to be expected, crossing a border doesn't magically transport you to an entirely different world. Accordingly, the Argentinian side of Patagonia looked exactly the same as the country we had just left, but within half an hour the landscape changed dramatically. From snow-capped mountains to flat, dry, and endless badlands it's easy to tell which country got the "better" half of Patagonia. Still, this side of the "Land of Giants" was beautiful in it's own unique way. Looking around in El Calafate, I felt like I had landed in the middle of a western movie scene; which in some ways was a welcome feeling of familiarity and a sudden wave of homesickness for American culture. The mountains to the East reminded me of being in Montana or the Grand Tetons in Wyoming, while the rest of the landscape reminded me of Utah or Nevada – a rugged and dry badlands but surrounding sparkling, turquoise glacial lakes.

Loud explosions, like the sound of bombs dropping in nearby war zone, startled us as we approached the glacier. It was the sound of the cracking ice, large chunks breaking off and falling into the lake. Some fell right in front of us and some were well out of sight but heard loud and clear. The sounds, the immense size of the glacier – it was an incredible sight.

Blazing my own trail: After El Calafate, I was ready to break off on my own and head north. But this meant traveling solo, and I was nervous. Would I be safe? Would I be lonely? What will I do when I get there? Despite the questions, I wanted to move on and my interest in discovering Bariloche, in northern Patagonia, was my desired destination. However, travel in Patagonia is complicated by long distances and lack of adequate roads. I had two options for getting to Bariloche: 1). sacrifice some dough to pay for a flight, or 2). respond to advertisements for the 38 hour bus ride on the “legendary” Ruta 40…Legendary? Why? At the time, I was unaware what made this road so celebrated, but numerous t-shirts in the windows of tourist shops with the road sign splashed across the front told me something was up.

In the end, my decision was easy: a fan of long drives and eager to see more of the countryside, I chose the bus. Along the way I discovered the significance of Ruta 40: It’s considered to be South America’s version of Route 66, it crosses the entire western length of Argentina, and it’s one of the longest roads in the world. Most of the southern portion remains unpaved, and as such it has become somewhat of an adventure tourism attraction. Summed up, I don’t particularly think that’s enough to dedicate so many t-shirt designs to it; in the end there’s nothing all that “adventurous” about it, revealing all the hype to be an obvious tourist trap. Nonetheless, this was my chosen route – a slow and bumpy ride enjoying Argentina’s remarkably flat, barren landscape inhabited by little more than the occasional vicuña and herds of sheep. A 38 hour bus ride sounds crazy but the scenery made the long ride worth it.

Bikes, The Beatles, St. Bernards, and Swiss Chocolate: When I arrived in Bariloche, I expected to see something similar to Pucón in Chile but the two towns could not seem more different. While I found Pucón to be quiet and peaceful despite the fact that it’s still a big tourist destination, Bariloche is a rather bustling city and I had imagined a sleepy little mountain town. The scenery was quite different as well - Bariloche instantly reminded me of Lake Tahoe, except set in the Alps instead of the Sierras.

I was glad to discover that my hostel was a decent distance outside of town. The place was laid-back, refreshing, and felt like being at a beach house rather than a hostel (I can still hear the songs played by Bob Marley, Beck, and Slightly Stupid just thinking about the place). The owner, who was from Buenos Aires and walked around in flip-flops and board-shorts, was a fantastic host offering to cook me up a steak when I arrived late that first night just off the bus, no extra charge. Sitting patiently outside the kitchen window was a huge St. Bernard, and the owner tossed the scraps to the his thankful pet. I soon learned that this town seems to have an infatuation with these dogs. Locals walk around with them on leashes and wearing big colars labeled "Che" and chargin tourists to take pictures of the dogs. At the very least, they sure were cute.

The next morning I went for a long bike ride exploring the peninsulas, islands, and vistas along the lake. It started out as a beautiful day including a great lunch on the beach; but then, seemingly out of nowhere, dark clouds began moving my way from the other side of the lake. Moments later the downpour arrived and there wasn’t much to do about it other than ride on. As I peddled along through widening puddles, I laughed to myself at the turn of events and the sunscreen melting off my arms, legs, and surely my face as well, giving me a ghostly white appearance. Just as I pulled in to return the bike, the clouds parted and the sun broke through... Figures... Although it made the last length of my ride a bit of a rough go, the return of the strong, warm sun was kind enough to dry me off quickly.

When I returned to the hostel, I found the owner and a few other travelers watching an old concert featuring John Lennon and Yoko Ono on a make-shift theater screen made by tying a white sheet to the ceiling (it reminded me of my friends from home). I haven’t yet mentioned this but songs by the Beatles have followed me throughout South America. When I arrived in the Chile, the first song I heard on the radio during the taxi ride from the airport was Hey Jude. The song remained in my head for a solid week. After that, it was Here Comes the Sun, and then in Curanilahue I played Hello, Goodbye during my first lesson with the students as we reviewed greetings. Now here in Argentina, I was sitting in the hostel’s common room watching this video of John sing well and Yoko sound like a chanting nutcase. If there was a soundtrack for my trip, the Beatles would fill a good chunk of the tracks.

On a day trip into town, I joined a girl from Morocco and a lad from Ireland for a tour of the town. We had two goals: we were in search of some quality chocolate, as this Swiss-German Bariloche is famous for its chocolateries; and we were also following a rumor about the best ice cream shop in the city. We achieved both. Free samples of chocolate followed by the uncontested best ice cream I have had in South America.

With other activities including a day hike up one of the mountainsides to Refugio Frey to view the rock formations, a night on the dance floor, and tasting some locally brewed beer, Bariloche actually felt like an easy-going and relaxing destination. I spent four days there and was sorry when it came time to leave. I also knew that just around the corner would be another destination just as interesting from which I’d likely be sad to leave as well. Part of traveling, I was realizing, is being thankful for what’s been done in one place and then focusing on what’s next instead of dwelling on what’s been left behind. In addition, I felt a renewed sense of confidence after completing the first length of my independent travel marathon as well as the reassurance that, when traveling, you’re never really alone. There’s always someone interesting to talk to in the hostel, someone touring the same sites, someone taking the same bus. That brought a sense of comfort and curiosity about who else I might meet in the next town.

My Slice of Paradise: Crossing the Andes back into Chile was a bit depressing. I had been there for 6 months. Returning so soon felt painful…but then again I was headed to Valdivia to visit some family friends; and it’s also my favorite town in Chile. I went there once before with Erin and 2 of my students as a reward for their excellent progress in our classes. Now I was going to get the opportunity to enjoy the place on my own terms. Of all places I had seen, Valdivia is the one place where I would consider living in Chile. It’s peaceful, tranquil and home to a strong shipping industry that doesn’t overwhelm with an industrial presence. It’s full of life, youthfulness, and hip bars but without the airs of a party city. Green hills rise and fall along the wide river that leads to the sea; it's a place where sea lions can lounge as they please on the side walks amidst the “Danger! Don’t touch the sea lions” warning signs; and a busy fish market is open for business daily; I even enjoy the light rains that roll-in almost daily. Easy-going, aesthetically lovely, economically important, and full people who are equally kind and hospitable as those in the rest of Chile, Valdivia is my little paradise.

Christmas in Santiago: I met up with two other WorldTeach volunteers and their families in Santiago for Christmas. We had a small wreath to substitute for a tree, and a laptop playing carols in our hotel room as we opened gifts Christmas morning. But none of us felt in touch with the holiday spirit. After a lifetime of associating Christmas with winter, it was strange to be walking around in shorts and fanning ourselves from the heat; not to mention seeing Christmas paraphernalia in stores with Santa Clause still dressed as he always is while weather was so hot. A lot of people back home asked me if Christmas is just as commercialized down here as it is in the ‘Great North’. The answer is no, but things seems to be heading in that direction.

I went to Mass on Christmas day at the Catedral Metropolitana in Santiago’s Plaza de Armas. That was the only time I actually felt like I was celebrating Christmas – listening to familiar carols sung in Spanish with an acoustic guitar accompanying the choir.

The most interesting aspect of Christmas in Santiago was how completely dead the city was – there were absolutely no cars, buses, or people in the streets and nothing was open (except for the Chinese restaurant where we had dinner Christmas Eve and the Indian restaurant where we ate dinner Christmas night). The city of 6.2 million people had practically turned into a ghost town. I couldn’t believe it!

Still feeling the itch to get out of Chile and see more of South America, I didn’t want to stay long in Santiago. Having already seen much of the south, I was ready to pursue something different. Again, I'd be heading out on my own and this time towards San Pedro de Atacama in northern Chile. It would be my launching point into Bolivia. I purchased my ticket for the 24 hour bus ride from Santiago (ever since Ruta 40, lengthy road trips had become the norm). The thought of heading into Bolivia was not without a tinge of apprehension; it’s the poorest country in South America, there are certain risks for travelers, and there was a chance I might get robbed for a third time. But at this point it didn’t matter, I had researched the risks, I knew to be extra cautious, there was plenty to explore, and my mind was made up. There was no doubt it was going to be an adventurous trip. And so, I raced north on my marathon towards the desert…

Torres del Paine

Finally the much anticipated trek was about to begin. Parque NationalTorres del Paine is located just north of Puerto Natales. It's known for its rocky spires, a glacier, several glacial lakes, and wild weather. The meaning of the name is somewhat disputed. According to most sources, it means Towers of Blue (paine being a native word for light blue, most likely referring to the turquoise color of the lakes). There are several options for hiking in the park but our crew planned on tackling the W (marked in yellow on the map below) and/or the full Circuit (marked in red), depending on how we felt along the way. However, as seems to be the case with many carefully planned trips, the plans never go as planned and Plan A quickly morphs in to Plan B, C, and D so that the course of events in no way resemble the original "Plan". That's what happened with us.

Day 1: Originally, we planned to arrive as a group of 6, but before leaving Santiago we shrank to a group of 5 - changing the dynamic of sharing the burden of camping supplies and kicking off Plan B. When we arrived in the park from Puerto Natales, we found two more fellow volunteer teachers, Pat and Verred, who had valuable information to share regarding the conditions of the trail: which starting point was best, where to expect to be hiking in snow, etc. Their information led us to change the direction of our hike and reverse our anticipated camping locations - commence Plan C.

We arrived by boat to our new first campsite, Refugio Campamento Pehoe, placing us at the lower portion on the right arm of the W. We could have pitched the tent, left our backpacks, and hiked up to see Glacier Grey but decided instead to move on to Campamento Italiano, located near the middle point of the W trail. This new change put us at Plan D.

Along the way, we would pass other hikers and everyone would use Spanish to communicated espite the obvious fact that virtually no one spoke it as their first language except those working at the campsites. It just seemed like the respectful thing to do, using the language of the country in which we're all in. This proved to be the norm throughout our hike in Torres del Paine.

Right away, we learned that the park has some very strict ordinances at each campsite. For example, there are no showers or toilettes except at sites with refugios (refugios are basically overpriced hostels which provide beds, showers, food, and bathrooms to those who prefer not to camp outside and are willing to pay the steep prices); all trash, including things like orange peals and toilette paper, must be carried with you until the next refugio site; and dishes cannot be washed in the rivers, although you can carry the water from the river to your tent. The idea is to leave no trace and keep the park as pristine as possible. Failure to follow the rules can result in being kicked out of the site...however, it's pretty easy to just leave for a couple hours and come right back as our camping neighbor discovered after getting caught tossing his apple core into the bushes.

With the first chunk of our hike completed, we went to bed still feeling excited just to be in the park and looking forward for the trails to come.

Day 2: The sky doesn't get dark until midnight and daylight begins to return around 4:00 am. It's hard to sleep-in even when your back and legs ache from yesterday's hiking. During the night, the wind picked up enough to disassemble our tent. Sleepy, grumpy, and disoriented in the dark, we struggled against the wind and the cold to put things back together. Our efforts were the topic of humerous conversation that morning as we ate a delicious breakfast of instant oatmeal with M&M's and raisins mixed in.

Once finished, we left our backpacks in the tent and headed up the center of the W through the Valle del Francés. Most of the trail is a gentle uphill walk by rivers, streams, and peaceful forrests, flanked on either side by tall mountain peaks. I thought it was the most tranquil hike on the entire trail. There was a steep incline towards the end, partially covered in snow, which led to the base of the peaks and an incredible view of the Valley and the lakes off in the distance. We ate lunch near the top and discussed our next move - Plan D was about to become Plan E.

The difficulty of the trial was greater than many of us had anticipated. Some had decided they would skip the rest of the trek and see other sights of interest by day hiking - without backpacks and tents. I decided to continue on the W but recognized the greater Circuit was going to be beyond my abilities. Three of our group of five turned back, and Kevin and I joined up with Pat and Verred. With that, we parted ways and moved on to the next campsite, Refugio Los Cuernos. After dinner we shared a box of wine purchased from inside the refugio and sat down by the lake to watch the sun set while the wind created cyclones on the lake in the distance. They looked like they were dancing.

Day 3: This was going to be the longest stretch of hiking - 4 1/2 hours to Refugio Chileno and then another hour to Campamento las Torres. Fortunately we knew of a short cut. Along the way, we met a pair of Canadian brothers who initiated a bit of a competition. We had stopped for a break and as they passed they sang out "Oh Canada". Let the game begin! We chose not to tell them about the short-cut.

It was a long day but by this point our endurance was starting to pick up, and despite the rigors of the trail, the scenery never ceased to amaze me. As the path climbs uphill over rocks and loose dirt, I would look up without seeing the top and wonder how much longer I'd have to endure this. Then I stop to catch my breath, look back at the trail below and see how far I had already made it. Beyond that was a stunning view of lakes, mountains, plains, and incredible sky scapes. The path is painful, the weight is heavy, the sun is hot, and the wind sometimes works against you. But then the trail rewards you with views unlike anywhere else. When taken in context, the trek is an amazing experience. The struggle of getting to each destination is part of what makes the experience so sweet.

We made camp and made preparations to get up at 3:30am the next morning. Our plan was to hike a steep path before dawn up to the the towers (the Torres del Paine) hoping to watch the sun cast a red light on the towers as it rises. As long as the sky remained clear, we had a good chance of seeing it happen.

Day 4: 3:30am and other campers were already awake and moving, their flashlights shining into our tent from outside. Reluctantly, we got up. It was cold and dark and a difficult hike over loose gravel and boulders. I was running out of breath and my legs ached, still wanting to sleep. We started chanting "Beat the red!" to keep ourselves motivated and reach the top before the sun. At 4:45 we made it...and waited. The sky was crystal clear. Slowly the sun came up and the towers glowed in the sunlight. They never turned red but it was an awesome sight nonetheless. We drank hot chololate and huddled in sleeping bags while enjoying the view.

With everything packed up, we made the long but easy, downhill hike to Refugio las Torres. From here we would once again seperate in different directions. Verred and I would set camp and sleep here while the two boys, Kevin and Pat, continued on and started the trail to complete the entire Circuit. Tomorrow, Verred and I would take a bus to a different trail location and hike up "The Tail" - an alternative trail entrance to the W that finishes back where we started at Refugio Pehoe. The map indicated it was a 5 hour hike but mostly across flat land. Seemed easy enough...

Day 5: It was starting to feel like the previous 4 days were catching up with me. I had a feeling the Tail was going to be harder than it looked on the map. First was 2 agonizing hours of boring, flat, marching. You'd think this would be a relief after the up and down on the W, but this felt like torture. Later, the hilly terrain retruned but by that point my feet ached more than ever, blisters were forming, and a new pain in my knee felt like mutinous rebellion in every step. A group of Dutch hikers, and then a group of Israelis recently finished with their required term in the military flew past us. The combination of fatigue and the feeling of being left in the dust can make a frustrating trek even harder. The 5 hour mark past and we still had a long way to go. Finally after 2 stumbles, no more water, and 6 1/2 hours on the trail, we reached Refugio Pehoe. It was over!

...But now we had to pitch the tent and make dinner. Aggghhh! I was surprised that our fatigue and low morale didn't cause an argument between us. Fortunately, that was the last time we'd have to endure a hike with our backpacks on, and we were able to find relief in that. All that was left was a day hike up the first arm of the W to see the glacier we'd skipped at the beginning. We ate in silence and then crashed.

Day 6: Too tired! We made an attempt to hike to the glacier, but turned around and came back. We needed a break. I fell asleep that night at 6:00.

Day 7: This time we were successful in making it to Glacier Grey and on the way saw Kevin and Pat on their return from the Circuit. The glacier was a spectacular sight with bright blue icebergs in the lake nearby. The wind here was incredibly strong, making it difficult to stay on the path. I was glad to see the glacier, but also pleased that this meant the hike was over. We stayed to eat lunch and then made our way back to the campsite. It was time to pack up and head out.

Torres del Paine is one of the most challenging and exciting places that I have experienced This is a region I was hardly familiar with before coming to Chile. Thinking about where I was standing in the context of a map, I realized that I had never imagined I'd find myself in this section of the world. I can't help but wonder where else I might someday find myself. As we prepared to leave the park, I felt like I had conquered something, although I'm not entirely sure what. There is a lot I am learning about myself while traveling and this felt like the grand kick-off to a long and exciting journey with much more to discover.

Highlights from the trail:

• Sitting on a rocky beach at Refugio Los Cuernos sipping boxed wine while watching the sunset.
• Pure glacial water - drinkable straight from the rivers and streams.
• Chocolate on the trail (never tasted so good!).
• Getting up before the crack of dawn to hike up a steep mountain, bundle up in a sleeping bag at the top to try to stay warm, and then watching the golden light on the towers as the sun rose after that grueling uphill march.
• Instant mashed potatoes are awesome!
• Oatmeal with M&M's and raisins is also a breakfast masterpiece.
• Number of languages I heard, but different groups always initially greeting each other in Spanish.
• The cloud formations.
• Thought a lot about family.
• Made two new friends.
• Assembled a tent, started a fire out of wood chips, and cooked with a gas canister.
• Horse skeleton seen on The Tail. It sort of symbolized they way we felt at that day.
• A Dutch guy who passed us on the trail wore a ridiculous silver, glittery baseball cap that sparkled in the sun. At first I was mocking it, but after he passed us, I could spot it reflecting the sun easily from a mile away. We started using it as an indication of where the trail would lead.
• Perfect weather.
• One fox and tons of guanacos (similar to llamas).
• One big glacier.
• Fell, but got up.
• Peace of mind felt as I hiked along.
• Harder than I expected, but the rewards were also greater.
• Enjoyed the challenges and felt inspired to seek more opportunities like this.

Patagonia, Land of Extremes

Patagonia...it's practically the end of the world; intense weather conditions can shift through all four seasons in the course of a day; it has one of the world's lowest population densities, and gaping whole in the o-zone hovering above; It's virtually uninhabitable. The wind whips with tremendous force across a desolate plain while jagged mountains dominate the horizon with rugged, resplendent beauty. The force of the wind has been known to rip car doors from their hinges and any trees able to survive the elements grow at a severe slant. Names like Seno Última Esperanza (Last Hope Bay) give you an idea of what early explorers and settlers must have endured here. Famous personalities from Charles Darwin to Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid to Ted Turner have all found something fascinating about this place, but what was once the region's most daunting obstacle has now become it's greatest asset - the landscape. Along with the first wave of the summer's travelers and adventure seekers, I arrived on December 2nd excited to experience a region largely untouched and unlike any other in the world.

Punta Arenas: Located on the Straight of Magellan, this was once an important port city for seal hunters, whalers, and the like. But with the changes the Panama Canal had on shipping routes, the city's economy plummeted. Now, the region prospers more from tourism, sheep herding, and (interestingly) one of the world´s largest reserves of hydrocarbon.Time spent in Punta Arenas was essentially just to stock up on food and supplies before heading for our real destination in the Parque Nacional Torres del Paine. We did have a chance to do a little sight seeing - a cementary full of old names from all over the world , visited a penguin colony, and gazed across the Straight of Magellan at Isla Tierra del Fuego on the other side.

Puerto Natales: There's even less to really say about this town. Just a couple hours north of Punta Arenas, Natales is really nothing more than a launching point for travelers headed to Torres del Paine. What was once a lazy fishing port is now a town heavily reliant on tourism. Hostels were on almost every corner and outdoor equipment and rental shops fill the spaces inbetween. However, the most obvious indication that tourism is the crux of this town's economy came from the number of locals who spoke English. I encountered more Chileans speaking English here than anywhere else in the country, even while I was speaking Spanish to them. If there's no obvious reason to learn a foreign language, most young students just don't care to learn it. To them, the second language is not an immediate necessity. However, if your ability to pay the bills relies on your English speaking skills with travelers flocking to your small town between the months of November to April, then the power of a second language is suddenly tremendously important. Among Germans, Chileans, Argentinians, Spaniards, French, Canadians, Americans, Chinese, Italians, Israelis, Dutch, and Brazilians the use of English as THE premier world language has never been so obvious to me as it was in tiny Puerto Natales.

Moving On

Updates: November seemed to fly by faster than I could keep up. The strikes lasted four weeks, and school finally resumed the Friday before I was to return back to Santiago. Throughout the month, Erin and I both continued to work with our advanced group - meeting for the weekly workshops, showing movies in English, and broadcasting with the radio - but it just wasn't the same. I missed working with each of my regular classes and was disappointed that I was unable to accomplish all the goals I had set for the semester. The situation was bitter-sweet though as the strikes afforded me the much needed spare time to draft and submit all my applications to law school.

Our last week in Curanilahue was spent saying good-bye to all the teachers, students, and new friends we had made in the town. I celebrated my birthday on my last day in town, and learned that Chileans really know how to stage a first-class farwell ceremony. Our advanced students planned a surprise show for us. As I walked into the dark theatre, I could see the outline of their heads hiding behind the chairs. When the lights came on, they sang Happy Birthday in Spanish and English. What followed was a farewell slideshow reflecting on all the good times we had shared and thank you letters expressing their gratitude and friendship. Afterwards, we headed over to the cafeteria to eat cake, pie de límon, and open our parting gifts.

Turning 24 on the 24th of November in Chile is reason enough for a little extra celebration, but nothing could have topped sharing it with these wonderful students. I will miss them and look forward to contacting them later on in our lives and hearing about the exciting things they have accomplished.

Farewell to La Comarca: La Comarca is a lounge bar in Curanilahue that Erin, Beto and I frequented when we had nothing else to do. It's not much to look at on the inside, but the beer is good and we made friends with the owners Gabriel and Rodrigo- two young and intelligent brothers with a hippy's philosophy on life, seeking to make a living and a little extra to finance their world travels. They are by far the most well-traveled Chileans I have met, which is exceptionally impressive considering they come from sleepy, little Curanilahue. The younger, Rodrigo, is a violinist/psychologist/travel-addict while the older Gabriel is the more mellow of the two and seems to handle most of the business at the bar. The name of the bar also adds a little character to the two - its named after J.R.R. Tolkien's "Shire" in Lord of the Rings. They both like the books and seemed to see some philosophical significance in the concept and decided to name their bar after it. I find it endearing.

The evening of November 24th was passed here at the bar, and to Erin's and my great delight, Gabriel had managed to find a Chilean bad that specialized in Celtic music to play at La Comarca. The band's name: "Eringo"! Appearing like a group straight out of the 1960s, they ascended the small stage and played an assortment of Celtic jigs with fantastic talent. I never would have guessed that I'd hear Celtic music in South America played by a group of hippies with a fiddler who looks a bit like Jesus. All I can say is that it was comically awesome.

Back to Santiago: We said our tearful good-byes to Gladys, Violeta, and my host teacher Patricia and made our way back to where it all began. I've never been one to cry during farewells and perhaps it was partly the fatigue from staying out at La Comarca until 4:00am the night before, but I lost it on the ride back to Santiago. I didn't realize how much I will miss them and the prospect that I may never see some of those people again was really saddening. I hope to stay in touch with some and hope they all continue to live happily in Curanilahue.

Next stop, southern Patagonia and an epic hike through Torres del Paine...

Strikes

Effective Friday of last week, Liceo Mariano Latorre went on strike along with hundreds of other public schools nationwide. The reasons behind it are a little vague to me but it essentially has to do with a "historical debt" owed to the teachers by the government. Back in 1981, administration of the public education system was transferred to the municipalities. In the midst of the change many teachers lost their jobs and paychecks went missing. Flash forward 30 years, and teachers are still demanding the payment of this "historical debt". The government passed a resolution to pay the debt but failed to deliver the funds within the deadline. "And now, the only thing we can do is to strike," my host teacher explained.

It's been one week and there doesn't seem to be an end in sight. The strike is declared "indefinite" and we've been told that it's quite possible it could last through the rest of the semester - November 20th. This isn't the first time teachers have taken action and demanded missing payments. Last semester public schools closed their doors for 3 weeks until negotiations with the government reached a satisfactory compromise. I am not familiar with the details - something to do with unpaid bonuses - but clearly the compromise, or perhaps another unfulfilled promise, has failed to quell frustrations.

It seems that educators from both sides of the equator can sympathize with the woes of underpayment considering the important service they provide. Nonetheless, it's hard for me to feel passionate about the teachers' position. From my perspective, 30 years is a very long time and it seems strange that this wasn't addressed and resolved decades ago. Most of the teachers I work with daily were students or recent university graduates when this debt accumulated; I'm not sure what they stand to gain from their demands, if anything. I actually feel more sorry for the students. They already have to make up the lost hours of classes from last semester's strike, and now it's possible that they will have to make up another month's worth of school if things aren't resolved quickly. Frustrations are amplified at high schools like mine where 4th year students need to prepare for the PSU (the university admissions test, or the equivalent of the SAT in the States). In Chile, admission into a university is determined almost exclusively on this score. They don't have the luxury of relying on a stellar essay to compensate for a lower score. As long as the strike continues, they are losing valuable opportunities for assistance in preparing for the exam.

As a foreign volunteer, I have a substantial degree of immunity which I intend to take advantage of for students' benefits. We're lucky that our teachers recognize this and don't mind if we want to continue with the English workshop and the radio program. Nonetheless, I still have a lot of spare time on my hands. Considering that so little time is left, a part of me hopes this strike ends soon so I can move forward with the brilliant plans I had for upcoming lessons and also meet my goals I hoped to accomplish with the students by the end of November. On the other hand, unrestricted by partisanship, I can't help but feel tempted by opportunity the strike presents for more ambitious travel excursions...

Below is a link to a Santiago Times article offering more information. If you'd like to read more, just type in "Teacher Strikes" in the site's search bar and a few more recent articles will pop up.

http://www.santiagotimes.cl/santiagotimes/index.php/news/education/chile-public-schoolteachers-cancel-classes-indefinitely.html

Happy Bithday Liceo! Week of Sept. 28 - Oct. 3

El Aniversario del Liceo: Alliances, tests of knowledge, races and relays, dance-offs, banners horns and chants, the spirit of fierce competition, and whisperings of an injustice…These are some of the highlights from the celebration of Liceo Mariano Latorre’s anniversary. I’m well over a week late in writing about this one but it was so immensely entertaining, as well as baffling, that I simply can’t omit it.

The Alliances: All classes and grade levels are divided into teams – Las Alianzas Roja, Naranja, Amarillo, Azul, and Verde (the Red, Orange, Yellow, Blue, and Green alliances). What follows is a week-long intense competition among the teams in celebration of the school’s anniversary. The busiest street in town was closed down for foot and bike races as police monitored traffic. A rowing race took place on the river – quite a spectacle as students scrambled to avoid each other and the shores. Their classmates came out in mass blowing horns, waving flags, and cheering each other on. Meanwhile, academic challenges took place in the classrooms as students demonstrated their knowledge in sciences, math and history.

Each day after these tests of brains and braun, everyone headed to the municipal gym for challenges of a more artistic nature – almost exclusively in the form of dance. In one such competition, each alliance was represented by student-student and teacher-student pairs of dancers who boogied to a never-ending remix of pop, salsa, cumbia, reggaeton, and of course the Cueca. Pairs lasted until the judges (other teachers) determined that their dance skills weren’t up to par, and by a long process of elimination a winner was declared. A word of note: bumping and grinding with each other and/or your teacher is perfectly acceptable…in fact, that’s apparently how you dance to reggaeton and cumbia; so the more you shake it, the better your chances of winning.

Body-painting was next on the agenda. A student from each alliance was painted from head to toe and a teammate described to the judges what the images represented. I was surprised by the creativity and symbolism that went into each student-canvass. Notions of peace, cross-cultural collaboration, humanitarianism and environmentalism were all evident in one team or another. At the same time, I began to recognize the extremes the anniversary competitions were beginning to reach. Races and relays are pretty typical, as are academic challenges. Dance-offs aren't far-fetched but they spanned the spectrum of popular to traditional to provocative. Now body painting? And the next night was to be the legendary, highly-anticipated “Full Monty” – What? Seriously? You’re kidding, right? But based on some of things I had seen during the anniversary as well as other background information I could apply, I anticipated that this grand affair was going to live up to its name...

The Full Monty: And my suspicions proved to be correct – “The Full Monty” was racy, original, provocative, inappropriate, politically incorrect and absolutely hysterical! First, allow me describe the setting: it was a Thursday night and we’re back in the municipal gym. There was a well decorated stage at the front flanked by large speakers. The two emcees paced the stage as they announced the next act/competition and the DJ in the back of the venue managed the music and disco lights. Down in front were the judges’ tables – teachers. The bleachers/stands were once again packed with the alliances divided into their sections, blasting their horns, waving their flags, applauding, screaming, and chanting when the music isn’t drowning them out. Seated in rows on the floor of the gym were all the other teachers, the director, sub-director, and us WolrdTeach volunteers, etc. Basically the VIPs. Thus, the backdrop for the madness of the Full Monty. Now for the activities, and if you were wondering – stripping was most definitely involved, I kid you not. (I'd like to reiterate that this is in front of teachers and parents).

We walked in when the excitement had already begun. They were in the middle of the competition “El Gordito Más Sexy”– yes, that’s sexiest fat boy. Basically, a representative from each team got up on stage, stood on the scale, his weight was announced, and then they shook their stuff as they removed articles of clothing to impress the judges. This was followed by “El Chiquillo Más Sexy” - because little guys can be sexy too! More displays of teenage male sexiness included Señor Speedo and Señor Musculo. There was essentially no difference between the two except the participants were different people. In both occasions, they started out wearing just enough to take off and then danced sexy-style in either a Speedo or their underwear.

Not to be left out, there were a few opportunities for the ladies to show off their sexiness as well. After all, if you’re going to have a Speedo competition, you have to follow up with bikinis, right? Now get ready for this next one: “Señorita Cuerpa Perfecta” – Miss Perfect Body. These curvy teens, clad in either bikinis or 80’s style gym clothes, took the stage and were measured (ah-hem, by boys/fellow students) at the chest, waist, and hips. Erin and I debated what Chileans might consider the perfect body – are we aiming for the hourglass look? Boyish figures? A big booty? What’s the preference here? Our discussion was determined inconclusive considering the range of measurements announced.

Now for the dancing! I think this is the part where the Full Monty reached the pinnacle of hilarity. Each alliance had a group of about 8 students who performed a choreographed striptease...that's right, a striptease for your classmates and teachers! Who comes up with this? And who approved it? Go figure.

First up – the boys: Each of their performances generally included a medley of selections from “I’m Too Sexy”, “Sex Bomb”, “You Sexy Thing”, “YMCA”, you get the idea. I have to hand it to them, they were pretty creative and put some serious thought into how they were going to take off their clothes. A favorite of the night was a group who began dressed as panderas, or bakers – white outfit, hats and all. Apparently things got a little hot in the kitchen: think dance moves that resemble kneading bread…but más sexy of course! The grand finale involved hand prints of flour on their bottoms. As inappropriate as it may seem to strip down to your boxers, the entire gym was on their feet with laughter and cheers. I can only imagine how much fun they must have had in choreographing these routines. Next, the girls: Their musical tastes leaned more towards the Brittney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Shakira genres. In contrast to the boys, they were disappointing to watch. They all started out with fewer clothes and their stripping lacked a plot line – come on girls! You’re better than that! In a nutshell, they missed the mark in terms of humor and crossed over into más sleazy.

I feel it needs mentioning that there was another round of dance routines that did not involve removal of clothing. The best was a group that danced to a medley of songs from the Grease soundtrack and it was great to watch, but these were eclipsed by the main attraction.

Nothing was more obvious than how blatantly the “Full Monty” activities fly in the face of our notions of American political correctness, prevention of sexual harassment in schools, and the highly sensitive and statutorily guarded boundary between the under-aged and adults. I was utterly baffled and torn between cracking up and wondering why this is considered ok. After watching this, I sincerely hope they don’t actually wonder why teen pregnancy is so common in this town.

Friday: Things were starting to wind down with no activities during the day, but that night the students took it to the streets! Out of the beds of trucks meant for transporting timber along the highways, they built floats covered in balloons, confetti, streamers, and massive paper mache mascots that resembled Pokémon characters. Students packed themselves into the truck beds waving their flags, blowing their horns, chanting, shouting, singing, and tossing confetti as more teammates did the same walking close to the truck and parading up, down and back again through the center of town. By this point, I had decided to take sides. I tried to remain neutral but Alianza Naranja’s team spirit and underdog status won me over. Erin and I joined their procession; the excitement and enthusiasm was contagious.

Saturday: The competitions were over, the winner was announced, and what better way to wrap things up than attending the Fiesta Gala at the school gym? Curiosity sucked us in, and Erin and I went to Prom, Chile-style. Originally just planning to dress casually, our “host-brother’s” sisters-in-law recommended that we borrow one of their dresses. They opened their closets and unloaded piles of gaudy, puffy, sparkly dresses. (I’m frequently encountering evidence that Chile is stuck in the 80’s and the options laid before me seemed to be another exhibit to add to the list). Hot pink, short dresses with confetti sparkles and tulle are plain and simply not my style. I may be trying to immerse myself in another culture but I just didn't feel like compromising on this one. I settled for something a little more “me”. Next, the younger of the two, Javiera – who is also one of my students – straightened my hair while the older, Paula, applied the makeup. The Prom deja vu was getting a little intense. When the girls were satisfied with their work, I looked in the mirror and for the first time since July, I felt…well, less like a volunteer.

So what was Fiesta Gala? It’s Prom with cigarettes, and the DJ plays reggaeton and cumbia instead of rap and hip-hop. They still crown a king and queen, except in Chile it's "La Reina" and "El Rei Feo". Why they add the feo is a mystery to me but I find it comical.

Post Anniversary: In the week following the school was still talking about the enjoyment of the Aniversario, but there were also rumors of an injustice. It was Alianza Amarilla that won, but many thought it should have been Naranja…Although I had heard it before, I had an up-close experience to appreciate that Chileans are very competitive people. The creativity and dedication invested into taking every competition above and beyond average was remarkable. I also noticed that they are generally good sports if they don’t attain the glory of the coveted first place. Shocking, interesting, impressive, it was all in all awesome to watch and share the student’s excitement throughout the anniversary week.

Live & Learn

By now I have a list a page long of things I want to write about but never seem to find the time. So much happens on a regular basis and although there's so much I want to share, I’ve acquiesced that I simply can't explain it all. However, through all the occurrences, there is at least one constant: I am continuously discovering new things about myself and I’m enjoying the process despite the stumbling blocks.

Robbed in Pucón: That’s twice now that I’ve been robbed in just three months. The first occurrence was in Santiago when my camera was ripped right out of my hands. I replaced it for a hefty price and hoped it wouldn’t happen again…Still, I had a hunch that my luck would run out and that it was only a matter of time before I’d come face to face with another misfortune.

Last weekend we went to Pucón, a stunningly beautiful location south of the Bío Bío Region. An enclave on Lake Villarica surrounded by the Andes and the active Villarica volcano, Pucón reminds me of a scene out of Jurassic Park with it’s greenery and mountains that pop straight out of the earth with peaks veiled in clouds. Eight other volunteers from various cities and I all congregated in Pucón. For me, it was a much needed break from Curanilahue and the frustrations of constant Spanish “miscomprehension”. It was rainy, windy, and cold all weekend but it didn’t effect our moods, our determination to have a great time, or the dramatic scenery. Through the course of the weekend, we enjoyed white water rafting, canopying through a zip-line course, as well as a fantastic BBQ complete with music, dancing, and laughter back at the cabin. Our last night is when things went south. At about 5:00 in the morning, someone broke into our cabin, rummaged through our bags in our rooms as we slept and managed to get away with my purse, another volunteer’s backpack and a pair of shoes. Unfortunately for me, my purse was his grand prize. He scored my camera, my phone, credit card, my Chilean ID, about $30, and a book about applying to law school if he speaks English and is suddenly struck with inspiration to ambitiously change career paths.

Things are cleared up now after a week of replacing most of the missing pieces. I had a lot of time to reflect on the occurrence and realized that my general reaction was curiously calm. So how do I feel about it? Surprisingly, less violated than I did the first time I was robbed. Am I frustrated? Certainly. Am I angry? No, not really. Mostly just disappointed. There are worse things that could have happened and all I wanted to do was keep moving forward. It’s an occurrence that I don’t want or have the energy to dwell on. In fact, I was more immediately distracted by a sudden improvement in Spanish upon returning home. Whether induced by the adrenaline inflicted by the robbery, the calming effect of travel, or by some other phenomenon, this discovery, even if it ends up being a fleeting coincidence, initially overshadowed much of the frustrations and disappointment of losing my possessions. In a way, I find this to be a testament to a shift in priorities since living in a foreign culture. The desire to fit in, to feel capable of normal tasks, to comprehend and communicate in Spanish, to maintain a sense of confidence which has been eroded through the process of culture shock is so strong and prevalent that lamenting the personal violation of a robbery and consequent lost possessions seems close to trivial.

I learned that right now, my priority is just to move forward and continue with teaching and learning. Hopefully, I’ll have the opportunity for a Pucón do-over later.

Thoughts on Language Learning: I have found that learning a language is a constant cycle of brief and exciting progress followed by long, aggravating plateaus. It starts out as a cacophony of strange sounds that seem impossible to grasp. Then, you start to figure out what some of the words mean, and then you start putting them together. A sense of confidence and euphoria starts to set in. You say the phrases with pride and satisfaction even though you still sound like an idiot. It dawned on me a little over a month ago that despite this new found ability, I simply can’t fathom the significance the words have to a native speaker. In this sense, learning and using the new phrases is practiced as if playing with a new toy – fun and engaging but used flippantly. For example - You are beautiful; I love you. Think about how strong those phrases are in English. There’s a lot of emotion both in speaking and listening to those statements. Now consider them in Spanish – tú eres linda; te amo; te quiero. These are just examples but if you didn’t grow up hearing these all the time, they just don’t have the same impact in your ear. Thus, in the beginning, you're uttering and hearing statements without fully comprehending their value. I don’t know when the true weight and meaning of words in one language transcends into the other or if it ever does, but I have a sense that it takes a long time.

I mentioned that language learning is full of progress and plateaus. Well, I’ve moved past the exciting Spanish-is-my-new-favorite-toy stage and hit a particularly long plateau. At times I have felt like I am drowning, lacking the faculties of communication and unable to stay afloat. Feeling in way over my head, there have been days when I just want to shut myself off from everyone and quit trying all together. Frequently embarrassed, conscious of how ridiculous I sound, and fatigued from the labors of obsessing over correct conjugations there’s nothing to do but keep at it. The drive to communicate pulls me out and forces me to persevere. Maybe I’ll wake up one of these days and be pleasantly surprised to hear the words flow confidently and correctly out of my mouth. Until then nothing is easy, but knowing that things will get better motivates me through the challenges.